New Skin - Wounded In Action (Anthro Dragon TF)
by Razordraac
Summary: A retired soldier in a wheelchair. One day, he decides it's time to change. Little does he know that he may change more than he originally expected.


Mr. Anderson typed his password quickly into his computer. Pressing 'Enter', he leaned back into his chair, lighting a cigarette and holding it between his two fingers. He looked back at the screen. He sat up straight again, blew out another cloud of smoke from his cigarette, and checked his emails.

"Let's see here..."

He scrolled down lots of emails, mostly with 'Thank you!' as the title. Then he stopped at one. The title was 'I need your service'. Mr. Anderson opened the email. It read -

_'Mr. Anderson, please open the attachment I sent with this email, thanks.'_

Intrigued, Mr. Anderson clicked the attachment, and opened it. It looked to be some kind of letter. He put out his cigarette in the ash tray, and slowly read.

_Dear Dr. Anderson, CEO of NewSkin,_

_I write this letter to inform you that I am in need your service. I was a soldier in the Gulf War, and I was severely injured when I was caught in a grenade explosion. My legs were so damaged, that I had to have them amputated. So now, I am stuck in a wheelchair. I can live with it, but once I heard about your company and how it can help your body, and even generate new body parts, I thought it would be ideal for me. I also saw all the positive feedback from your customers after the treatment. _

_But there is still one thing I don't understand: why is your company called NewSkin? It doesn't literally give you a 'new skin', does it? I guess it's just metaphorical though. Anyway, please email me back if you can help me. I appreciate it._

_Yours sincerely, Paul Miller_

Mr. Anderson smiled.

"Another willing customer is never a bad thing..."

He began typing up a reply email, addressed to Paul Miller.

Paul woke up early the following morning. He had remembered the letter to the CEO of NewSkin he had sent yesterday. He knew there would be a reply. He was straight to his computer, typing and clicking frantically. This could be his one and only chance to ever walk again. And oh boy, was he going to take it.

He quickly scrolled down the emails.

"No, no, no, no...wait a minute..."

Then he saw it, the reply he had been waiting for. It was titled 'NewSkin - Your request...'. He made no wasted time in clicking it and opening the attachment. It read,

_Dear Paul Miller, _

_We have read your request carefully, and are pleased to say that it has been accepted. The service we provide is completely free, no strings attached. We care more about customer satisfaction than money. However, if you wish to donate, this is perfectly fine. _

_Your appointment will be tomorrow at 10am. Please be here on the dot. Our address is 14 Fox Lane, West Havenbury. See you there!_

_P.S. To answer your question about a 'new skin': you'll see..._

_Yours sincerely, Mr Anderson, CEO of NewSkin Inc._

Paul was overjoyed. This was really going to happen. He was going to get his legs back. He was going to be able to walk again! However, he found the last answer a bit strange. 'You'll see...'. Sounded a bit suspicious. But he shrugged it off and got ready to go.

In the car, he put the address into his GPS.

"14 Fox Lane, West Havenbury. Right, let's go."

Mr. Anderson was waiting in in his office for his new customer, thinking about what treatment to give him.

"New legs..." he thought.

"I know just the thing."

Paul arrived at 14 Fox Lane after about fifteen minutes driving in the car. He took his wheelchair out, sat on it, and rolled it towards the main doors of the big building, with large letters reading 'NewSkin' above. He pushed the doors open and wheeled to the counter.

The accountant sitting there noticed him, smiled, and said,

"Hello sir, do you have an appointment?"

"Actually I do. Paul Miller?"

The accountant looked back on his computer and typed something in.

"Ah yes, we have you here. If you'd like to head this way please..."

The accountant pointed to a door on the right. Paul wheeled his wheelchair through without hesitation.

Mr. Anderson heard someone coming through the doors down the corridor. He opened the door of his office to greet whoever it was.

"Greetings. You must be Paul Miller, right?"

The man replied.

"Yes, that's right. Are you Mr. Anderson?"

Mr. Anderson smiled.

"Indeed I am. So, I got your letter. You need some legs, right?"

"That's right..."

"Then we have just the thing for you. This way please."

Mr. Anderson walked down the corridor, and Paul followed. They came to some doors saying 'Surgery Clinic'. Entering inside, Mr. Anderson gestured to Paul to lie on the hospital bed in the middle of the room. Paul was amazed by how quick this was all happening.

"Wow, already?"

"Yes, service is prompt at NewSkin."

Mr. Anderson went over to a touch screen and pressed something. A small robotic arm with what looked like a hypodermic needle on the end came down and stopped an inch away from his upper arm. Paul looked at it.

"This is the anesthetic?"

"Precisely... Are you ready?"

"This is it..." thought Paul

"Yes, I'm ready..."

What Mr. Anderson wasn't telling him was that the injection he was going to give him wasn't _just_ the anesthetic.

"Alright then." Mr. Anderson said with a smile.

He pressed another button, and the syringe pierced his skin, penetrating about a couple of centimeters into his arm. He saw a bluish colour travel down the transparent tubes on the robotic arm, and into the syringe. Paul immediately fell asleep. Mr. Anderson sat back in his chair and watched the changes take place.

Paul woke up in a daze. His eyes felt strange, and his vision felt clearer. He sat up and looked down. And literally screamed. His body was covered in scales. His fingers and toes were now menacing claws. Wait, toes? He had his legs back? He stopped screaming, and got up. It was the most strange feeling. It had been nearly 20 years since he had legs, and now it felt strange. Half dizzy and stumbling over himself, he walked over to a mirror, conveniently placed on the wall. He took a long hard look at himself. He still had a human structure, anthropomorphic, you could say. But everything else was different. A long tail, also covered in scales, a fully reptilian head, a long line of sharp teeth, with a forked tongue. Slitted eyes. Three-jointed legs. Wings. The only thing to describe what he was, was a dragon.

But why wasn't he angry? Upset? Actually, he felt more relieved than anything. Trying to move them again, it was such a relief to have legs now. He wasn't drugged to think like this. He was thinking like this because he wanted to. Any fear or anger he had washed away at that moment. What was there to worry about? He now had but one objective. He raced out of the room, through the foyer, and out into the outside world. He was going to run. He was going to fly. He felt like he needed to live life to its fullest. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't going to be hesitant, like had mostly been before. He had a new life now, and he definitely was going to make it a good one.


End file.
